Like him in Æsop, he whipped his horses withal, and put his shoulder to the wheel.
Robert Burton (1577 - 1640)
Source: Anatomy of Melancholy
Contributed by: Zaady
Though it rain daggers with their points downward.
One religion is as true as another.
Rob Peter, and pay Paul.
He is only fantastical that is not in fashion.
Idleness is an appendix to nobility.
For "ignorance is the mother of devotion," as all the world knows.
We can say nothing but what hath been said. Our poets steal from Homer. . . . Our story-dressers do as much; he that comes last is commonly best.
I light my candle from their torches.
No cord or cable can draw so forcibly, or bind so fast, as love can do with a single thread.
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